– life – bokdrols of wisdom –
I threaten to beat Tom to within an inch of his scrawny existence, the pest!
So he gets very interested in the finer technical details of the process.
Serious, Dad, an inch? Like, 25mm?
What with, Dad? Would there be blood?
No pinching, Dad, OK?
And isn’t that against the law? You’re not allowed to beat children, isn’t?
Little shit.
Years ago I wrote about my hairdresser then. She had more to do than my hairdresser now.
I went and saw her one day and realised I’d chosen the wrong time. Fergie was getting married to the porky ‘prince’ and all the ladies were glued to the telly, ooh-ing and aah-ing.
Bloody ‘Royal Family’ mania!
I can come back later, I offered.
No, its fine, she fibbed and set to trimming my locks, out of view of the Pomp-ing Ceremony.
Have you seen!? she asked in her pronounced Affies or Dirkie Uys accent.
No, not really interested, said anti-monarchist me.
Ag, Saah-ra looked so beautiful as she stepped out of the cart, she gushed.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Now my CURRENT hairdresser is something else. Saw her yesterday. Much less to do, but hey!
Presses her boobs against me; Stands with her thighs on either side of mine; Pats me tenderly; Fusses over me; Quite a performance. And charges me nothing! FREE haircuts for me.
Course, I’m married to her . . .
~~~oo0oo~~~
28 July 2010 – Groblersdal
A 17-month-old Bengal tiger has caught the attention of the whole country after somehow escaping from his owners’ Ford F250 bakkie on Monday night. He is now roaming about somewhere between Groblersdal and Delmas – which is very far from Bengal.
His owners Goosey (51) and Rosa (45), hope he will arrive at their smallholding at Endicott near Springs on Wednesday, though how he will do that without GPS they don’t say. Oh, and they don’t have a permit for the tiger.
According to Rosa, anyone who spots him should point a stick at him and say “NO!” That’s Tiger 101, everyone knows that. He’ll probly still eat you, but with some regret as you would have reminded him of Rosa. She also suggested you give him some chicken to eat. He’ll probly still eat you, but with some regret as he will have had a meat starter.
Sersant Wilson of Grobbies also chimed in with more dodgy advice: “If the permit-less tiger is spotted, people are asked to phone the local police station immediately.”
Well! No wonder they can’t find it!! Everyone knows a tiger is STRIPED, fgdsake!
I can just see Sersant Wilson’s konstabels tip-toeing thru the bush, seeing Panjo and saying voetsek wena! as they continue their search for a spotted creature!
~~~o0o~~~
For a little while the whole of South Africa knew where Groblersdal was. Sort-of: That place you must avoid; there’s a tiger on the loose! One old fellow, when warned there was a tiger around said, ‘Yes, he knows, that’s why he’s carrying a stick. It’s not cos he can’t walk without a stick!’ One lovely lady, asked what she would do if the tiger came to her house, said she’d buy chicken from her neighbour who sells chickens, then quickly dress up in her best so she’d look good when the TV cameras arrived.
Panjo was finally found on the farm Swartkoppies in Verena. The tiger’s spoor had first been picked up by ace tracker Johnson Mhlanga from Singita in Mpumalanga, then by ace tracking dog Zingela, a Weimeraner whose forebears came from Germany aus. He and his owner Conrad (forebears also aus Germany?) work in Sabi Sands Game Reserve, where they track wounded game.
So Panjo didn’t find his way home to Endicott near Springs; he had to be fetched and driven there. I hope he thanked Zingela and gave him half his KFC. Or some bratwurst at least.
~~~oo0oo~~~
voetsek wena – be off with you; shout it confidently, but he’ll probly still eat you
TomTom on two tractors. Top with his big cousin LindiLou at the Maritzburg agricultural show; Bottom, years earlier on a farm in the ‘Berg.
Defying gravity, the shelves hover . . or to paraphrase the famous Douglas Adams –
“They hang in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.”
No brackets, no trusses, no nails. No visible means of support. They’re just . . . THERE.
Oddly, they did not get rave reviews from various lesser carpenters. Envy, perhaps?
~~oo0oo~~
“How long have you two been carpenters?” – “We’ve only just begun.”
Aitch is in Bloemfontein in a new rental Toyota Yaris. She’s working. She flew up from Durban so is not driving the company BMW 3-series she’s used to.
Feeling peckish, she drives to a take-away, but she can’t find the button for the window, so has to open the door to order and receive her double cheese burger (while the cat’s away the cat will play!)
Later she searches again. Where on earth have they hidden the window button? Not on the door, not on the centre console, not on the dash. Next stop is a hospital and there’s a boom, so she stops beforehand and conducts a thorough search. Doesn’t want to be caught at the boom with cars hooting behind her.
Oh! Here it is. A round knob attached to a handle and you have to actually go round ‘n round and wind the thing MANUALLY! Using your whole arm!
Who would have thought?! Whatever will they think of next?
~~oo0oo~~
TomTom has to keep a holiday diary for school. Daily entries. Verbally he can be quite verbose. When a story can be told in ten words, he can take twenty, then repeat them in case you weren’t listening.
So we went shopping and walked for miles in Westwood centre, then drove to the Pavilion, looking for soccer collectable cards and an album. Plus we had Kentucky Fried chicken and a Tab, bought plasters for him and disprins for me. And he listened to music on his headphones in the kombi.
In his diary he wrote: I have soka cards frommy Dad. That was it.
Earlier, we had arranged to go to the Palmiet River* at the bottom of our road. Aitch was out, so I told TomTom we should leave a note for Mom to tell her where we’d gone.
He wrote a big note. It said – in glossy silver pen: We have gone.
I insisted he say more, so he added some detail:
And we well come back – TomTom
~~oo0oo~~
*Our Palmiet fossicking turned up tadpoles, mayfly nymphs, baby frogs, freshwater shrimps and little fish fry. Maybe he’ll write about them.
So I’m dropping off Ebony and Ivory, the terrible twins, Ivory Josh and Ebony Tom, at Paula Dean’s Holiday Club, in West Virginia. Or so it sounds when the kids say it. It’s actually Westville Junior.
Also Jessie and Londeka, who is visiting her grandma Gogo Regina, our housekeeper, from Mbumbane.
On the way up the steps I remember, and mumble, that I must fill in an indemnity form for Josh.
No, Dad, we already filled in our Indignity Form, says TomTom.
Appropriate.
~~oo0oo~~
Aitch takes the kids for lunch at a Spur restaurant with her folks – Gogo ‘Ona and Grumpa Neil. It’s two days after their joint birthday – they turned 7 and 11, so it was 2008.
TomTom is wolfing down a bowl of ice cream he has FINALLY been able to wheedle out of his Ma. She feels he usually eats a mouthful and wastes the rest, so he has to persuade her before a wish gets granted.
His Gogo watches and comments: “My, Tommy, you’re eating that ice cream quickly!”
Well, he explains, We don’t get offered it much in our home.
~~oo0oo~~
Jessie answers the phone in her usual polite way:
Hello Jessica speaking how may I please help you?
Followed by wide-eyed silence, then, Hello Rita.
Rita had answered ‘I’ll have two pizzas, please. Large, with extra cheese, and a Pepsi.’
That floored ole Jess. She’s still giggling about it.
~~oo0oo~~
~~~oo0oo~~~
Jess n Tom got well spoilt for their 11th and 7th birthday in 2008, so Jessie wrote a thank you note to her favourite GoodGodParents:
Thank you for the ABBA singstar you are the best and the best.
And I’ve just sung Summer Night City it is the best song I’ve held.
And I’ve also sung
And I Can Dance With You Huney
If you think it’s funny
Does your Mother know that you out?
Thank you John and Dizzy (Dizzy you are the best)
Love you Lots, Lots, Lots, Lots
from your best girl in the world
Love you so much
You best girl
Jessie Swanepoel
Dizzy
JHON
~~oo0oo~~
As I hit ‘pay’ on my laptop internet banking and waited for the beep on my cellphone it struck me. I could picture it in my mind’s eye: The little white enamel loo roll holder in the stall in the mens toilets, Montclair Mall.
I rushed back just in case, but forget it. No sign of my little red Nokia N73.
Damn! When I got back to the rooms, Feroza and Raksha – much more clear-headed than me – had already phoned it as soon as they saw me muttering and cursing. It got switched off in mid-ring.
Moertoe.
It’s 17h15, so the cell shop is closed. I go home and phone Vodacom. Sorry, our systems are down. Phone back in an hour. Or so.
When I finally get them with their disting up, it’s: Sorry, I MUST PHONE MY SERVICE PROVIDER. (Vodacom! You don’t train your poor call centre people! Shine up!)
I phone the Autopage after-hours number. They say they’ll block the number for me (well, in the next 24hrs they will, that is), but they can’t block the phone. I MUST GO INTO THE STORE (my pet hate words) and give them the IMEI number to do that.
Next day the Autopage store say they will only block the IMEI number after I report it to the cops but even then it will take 24 – 48 hrs. Or longer, today being Friday. There are profits to be made from phones stolen, but not from phones blocked, I guess!?
They say my insurance will need the SAPS case number, but the cops will need the ITC number first. When? When it gets blocked. Maybe Monday. I’m not happy, so they give me their P number (provider number) and I’m off to the cops right now. What do I need for the cops? Only the ITC number. Sure? Yes.
At the copshop Inspector Luthuli is helluva apologetic, but firm: Yes, he does need the ITC number, true. But he also needs the IMEI number. The computer won’t give a case number unless it is fed with both numbers.
Back to the Autopage store (grrr!), and then back to the copshop. As I get in, Inspector Luthuli is on his way out. He has grabbed a copy of Drum magazine and he’s heading off (to the loo? home? I dunno, but I call out:) Please Insp Luthuli, can you help me? He does. Batho Pele.
~~oo0oo~~
Actually, this is quite lekker. So now I’m incommunicado, as Jimmy Buffet would say. I reach for my pocket quite often: ‘I’ll just phone Aitch. I’ll just sms the Brauers. I’ll just make a note of that.’
No,
you won’t.
Write it down. Use a pencil.
I make a note to use
a tickey box. That will tickle people.
I’ve lost my contacts list, my notes, my sms’s, my calendar reminders, the lot. Lekker. Peaceful.
~~oo0oo~~
Now on the day that John Wayne died
I found myself on the continental divide
Tell me where do we go from here?
Think I’ll ride into Leadville and have a few beers
Think of “Red River”, “Liberty Valence” can’t believe
the old man’s gone
But now he’s incommunicado
Leaving such a hole in a world that believed
That a life with such bravado
Was taking the right way home
~~~~oo0oo~~~~
moertoe – gone to hell; down the toilet
disting – dingis; whatchamacallit
lekker – naas; nice
batho pele – batho pele means putting other people first before considering your own needs, or yourself; ‘people first’
Mom n Tom choose a cake for his party: A great big rocket with a number SEVEN emblazoned in smarties on its side, a star-shaped base and gleaming red aluminium foil fins. They choose the mixing bowl, run the Kenwood, prepare the star-shaped pan and – at last – pop the first part into the pre-heated oven.
It’s a hot, muggy day and Aitch plops down into a chair in the breakfast nook and smiles at Tom.
Mom! he says, I couldn’t have done that without you!
~~~~oo0oo~~~~
It gets worse. Later on he thinks of something and goes up to Aitch.
Mom, what treat can I get for helping you? he asks.
Hmmm, says Aitch, always sharper than me in dealing with the kids’ manipulations, Who’s cake is this?
Mine.
So what do I get for helping YOU?
A hearty handshake, says the incorrigible one, without missing a beat, and goes running off chuckling.
~~~~oo0oo~~~~
Aitch takes a weekly reading session at Livingstone.
Usually she reads in the class and each kid gets a turn to come to her and read while the rest get on with their work under the teacher’s supervision. She slips Tom’s book near the top of the pile so he can get his reading done early and stop watching her reading with the others.
She gives him a discreet hug as he walks up to her to which he stiffens awkwardly, turns his shoulder and glances to see if his mates are watching. He does NOT want to be teased!!
This week for once the reading was outside the classroom, and Mrs Button sent the kids out one by one.
SO: TomTom climbed on Aitch’s lap and gave her a huge hug, snuggled down and read both his books to her with full concentration!
Aitch’s grin was still fixed on her face hours later.
You can venture forth boldly and independently . .
~~~oo0oo~~~
Mom n Tom choose a cake for his party from one of her books. A great big rocket with a number SEVEN emblazoned in smarties on its side, a star-shaped base and gleaming red aluminium foil fins.
I’m allowed to cut the foil for the fins and shape the obviously important control command post in the nose cone, getting TomTom to operate the stapler. And there endeth my contribution.
The main chefs now choose the mixing bowl, run the Kenwood Chef mixer, prepare the star-shaped pan and – at last – pop the first part into the pre-heated oven.
It’s a hot, muggy November day and Aitch plops down into a chair in the breakfast nook and smiles at Tom.
Mom, he says, I couldn’t have done that without you!
It gets worse. Later on he thinks of something and goes up to Aitch.
Mom, what treat can I get for helping you? he asks.
Hmm, says Aitch. Who’s cake is this?
Mine.
So what do I get for helping YOU?
A Hearty Handshake, says the incorrigible one, without missing a beat.
~~oo0oo~~
‘As if born of you . . ‘ – exactly right!!!
~~~oo0oo~~~
